


Genesis

by incidental



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29835459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incidental/pseuds/incidental
Summary: Eve and Villanelle share a moment after the bridge scene at the end of Season 3.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74





	Genesis

The radiator in the hotel room made a sudden, loud knocking sound, jolting Eve out of her reverie--or was it sleep? She couldn’t quite say whether she had passed through one and into the other or not. If she had, her dreams had not been far from the present reality. This realization allowed for a small smile to tug the corners of her mouth. Next to her, Villanelle’s shape was moveless in the dark.

Orange light fell in geometric shafts across the room, peeking in between the cracks in the vertical window blinds. It found and illuminated pieces of the last few hours’ events--Eve’s black coat with the fur trim around the hood, dropped carelessly on the floor; the small mustard-colored lake made by Villanelle’s outerwear; a purse lying on its side on the desk, half of its contents spilled out beside it; a shoe; a pair of black cotton underwear; a bra. 

The clanging sound repeated itself, this time accompanied by a low hiss of steam from somewhere near the window. There was a shift in weight, the mattress creaked, and Villanelle turned onto her back and let out a sigh from some deep cellar of the subconscious. Eve held her breath, not wanting to disturb this moment; afraid that once Villanelle woke up, everything would change. She waited, but there was no further movement. She breathed again.

Meanwhile, Villanelle worked to keep her breathing even and shallow, not wanting to betray that she was in fact awake. She let her eyes open the slightest fraction, trying to take in what little of the room was available to her in the near-complete darkness--but catlike though she may be, there was still only darkness fragmented by the light of the street below. But she felt Eve’s warmth next to her, felt her take in a breath and hold it when Villanelle turned onto her back, then felt her let it go once she was certain Villanelle was still asleep. 

As if she could feel Eve’s eyes close next to her, she let hers open completely. How she had gotten here, where she had wanted to be from the moment she first saw and became wholly enchanted by Eve Polastri, she wasn’t even quite sure herself. Only a few hours earlier, on that bridge in the cold, she was so sure she was about to watch everything she had ever wanted slip out from between her fingers. Her back pressed against Eve’s, they walked away from one another, and had Eve not turned around, that would have perhaps been the end of it. 

(It had to be Eve’s choice; it never could have been Villanelle’s. She was not strong enough to walk away; not strong enough to keep her back turned. Like Lot’s wife, she would always look back, and find herself petrified, and disintegrating, coming apart like sand in the rising tide.)

But then, as though God Himself had looked down and found her worthy, she saw Eve already turned, already waiting. And then it was their hands in the cold, and their breath, quick and damp and eager, and the soft bow of her mouth, and even though the sky above London couldn’t be seen, Villanelle knew it was full of stars. (There had never been stars before, but they were there now. They were there.)

She suddenly felt the sensation of being watched, and turned her head to the side, looking directly into Eve’s face. Her eyes glittered even in the darkness, reflecting the street lights beyond them, and her chest rose and fell beneath the sheet silently. She didn’t speak, and neither did Villanelle. They just turned onto their sides and stared.

Finally Villanelle reached one hand out, resting it on Eve’s cheek, allowing her thumb to brush her lips gently, so gently, almost uncertain as to whether or not she was touching them at all. Eve did not recoil, but closed her eyes and turned her face slightly towards Villanelle’s hand. Villanelle felt something inside her chest explode, as though she had never felt so much at one time, and it occurred to her suddenly that she probably hadn’t. This was perhaps the most she had ever felt in one single moment. She wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Eve finally opened her eyes again and moved towards Villanelle in the bed, closing the small gap between their warm bodies. Skin against skin, they melded into one another, becoming one united shape in the darkness. Villanelle felt Eve’s hot breath against her neck, and rested her face against her magnificent hair, breathing her intoxicating scent.

“What are you thinking?” Eve asked, finally daring to break the silence.

“I don’t know,” Villanelle responded honestly, perhaps the most honestly she ever had in her life. She truly didn’t know what to think, or if she could even think in this moment; her brain seemed to be having trouble stringing a coherent thought together at the moment. “What are you thinking?”

Eve’s response was to breathe in, hold it, then sigh inscrutably. It frightened Villanelle, and her body tensed, ready to fight, ready to withdraw. 

“Hey,” Eve said, feeling the shift. “Relax.”

“I am an assassin, Eve, I don’t really do that.” Eve laughed, and in protest of everything she had just said, Villanelle found that the deep bells of her laughter did in fact relax her. “This is all new.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how to feel,” she whispered, the honesty edged with fear.

“I know,” Eve repeated.

“Is it okay?”

“Yes,” Eve breathed, dampening Villanelle’s skin with it as she pressed her cheek against her chest. Without understanding why, Villanelle began to cry, so quietly and unobtrusively that it took a while for Eve to realize it was happening. When she did, she turned onto her back, her head propped up on her pillows, and drew Villanelle to her. She swept the tears from her cheeks with her fingers, and kissed her on the mouth, gently, so gently, so gently it hurt, so gently it broke her. She felt like she was spinning madly inside, losing her grip, losing control, and for the first time, she didn’t care. The tears came faster and harder, and she couldn’t catch her breath, but she didn’t care. She realized in a moment of perfect clarity that the last time she had cried like this, was when her mother left her at that orphanage a lifetime ago. 

She finally calmed after a time, and Eve actually thought she had fallen asleep until she spoke again ten minutes or so later.

“You did not answer my question,” Villanelle almost whispered to the dark.

“What question?” Eve asked, cradling in cupped hands the enigmatic face looking up at her, soft but cautious.

“What are you thinking?” Villanelle repeated. Eve smiled.

“Oh,” she said. “That. I was thinking that… I don’t know if I want to say,” she suddenly demured, in a manner most unlike her.

“Hey!” Villanelle said. “I showed you mine; you show me yours.” She grinned, and Eve couldn’t help but mirror it. She turned away from Villanelle’s demanding gaze.

“I was thinking about how to tell you that I love you.”

The radiator kicked again with an almighty clanging, but neither of them noticed. Villanelle’s head was buzzing, her ears unable to hear properly after those last three words. She was terrified, and elated, and feeling something entirely beyond her capacity to label or understand. It was not the obsession that had propelled her for so long. It was something different. Eve pressed her lips together, eyebrows knit, and waited. Villanelle tried to speak, but there was no voice to be found, so she simply closed her mouth again. Finally she managed it.

“Eve, I…”

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No!” Villanelle said, louder and more emphatically than she meant to, and Eve jumped up, the sheet sliding away from her naked form. Villanelle also sat up, so they were each upright in bed, watching one another as though each were cradling a bomb. Eve’s eyes widened, and Villanelle took a steadying breath.

“I meant,” she said, more quietly this time, “don’t apologize, don’t ever apologize for that. I… I think I love you, too. Do you think I love you?” The question sounded strange, but was asked with such utter honesty that Eve peered curiously into her face, quite visible now that their eyes had adjusted to the dark. “Do you think I can?”

Eve considered the question. It was worth asking--could a psychopath like Villanelle love? Or was it just obsession? Lust? Passion? Was she capable of, could she ever be capable of loving Eve like a normal person could love? Someone like Carolyn Marten would say no, absolutely not. Even Konstantin would probably say no, she couldn’t feel true love, only lust and obsession. But they also had never known nor understood Villanelle the way she did. It seemed entirely possible, probable even, that they did not know the same person at all.

“Yes,” she finally said. “I think so.” 

“I’m not sure I know how,” Villanelle allowed. 

Eve reached out and took Villanelle’s hands in hers, bringing them up to her face and kissing them softly, softly.

“You’ll learn.”


End file.
